So much political drama this season, but I want to focus on myself for a minute. I had a wonderful hour-long rambling telephone conversation with my darling sister Susie the other evening, and at one point I asked her what she remembered about a trip we took together in high school. She’s a bit older than I am but her memory is excellent and she jogged mine with additional details of that strange summer. Here are some remembrances of things past (not exactly Proustian though).
We had been attending a youth group with a neighbor of ours, even though it was run by a religious outfit and we did not attend any church nor subscribe to any particular belief. I suspect it was just to support our friend that we went. (We also occasionally visited the Catholic Church with another friend but never sat through a whole Mass as I recall.) We both remember the Protestant youth group leader handed out a flyer offering a getaway camp in Colorado which featured horseback riding among other activities. My sister being horse mad at the time (and still) was eager to attend. The price was extremely reasonable, and we believe that my parents decided it might be a great opportunity for us to see the West (having come from England recently). Besides that, we think they were on the verge of divorcing and this may have been a last ditch effort for some alone time. Regardless of the reason, we soon found ourselves off to camp.
Part of the low price meant that we took the trip from New Jersey to Colorado on an ordinary school bus. Now granted this was probably 1959 or 1960 so bear that in mind when you think of cross-country travel today. However, a couple of memories stand out. The bus broke down somewhere along the way (we actually have a picture), and the leaders were at a loss until one of the campers McGyvered us back on the road. This particular camper was one of the “inner-city” youths who had also been corralled into this adventure. His cleverness was much appreciated at the time; however, when we stopped for a meal (and I believe it was in Ohio), the white campers could go into the restaurant but our black busmates could not. Susie and I distinctly remember having to bring food out to the bus for them. From my future self, I wonder why on earth the so-called religious leaders could have allowed that to happen. Surely a workaround of the disgusting discrimination could have been found. At the very least we all should have boycotted that restaurant, even if it meant going hungry.
The week at camp went swiftly with the aforementioned horses looming large. Susie loved it, but I was a little terrified when I was on horseback on a narrow path on a cliff. At least that’s what I have carried all these years. The evenings consisted of lovely campfires and singing, and being older Susie remembers a lot of proselytizing. I believe the sole purpose of the camp was for us to accept the Lord Jesus Christ as our Savior. We both recall that some of the campers who were not already saved did that very publicly. However, Susie and I were there for the camping, and as I shared in a previous post, we both had inherited from Mummy a healthy skepticism of religion since she had been shipped off to a Catholic boarding school when she was young.
The final memory we both vividly share is one which happened as we were nearing New Jersey (again on the school bus). One of the counselors squatted down in the aisle of the bus and again exhorted us to accept Jesus. We still demurred and my sister recalls the counselor’s words as we were about to arrive at our destination: She pointed to a big red truck that was passing us on the Jersey Turnpike and asked ominously what would happen if that truck suddenly ran into us? She said that we’d all be killed but that everyone else on the bus would feel the rapture and meet their Savior. Susie and I would be consigned to the other place. We both burst into tears but stood our ground.
When our parents met us in the Princeton parking lot, they had not expected two weeping girls to emerge from the bus. Neither one of us remembers much more about the ride home, but I am sure my parents who both loved us unconditionally soon managed to wipe away our tears and our fears. As my darling very proper Mum said on many an occasion as I cared for her until the end, “I don’t give a shit what happens after I die, I’ll be dead!”
I haven’t named any names here because this youth camping outfit is still going strong and has spread worldwide. I would like to holler the name from the beautiful mountaintops they shared with us, but nowadays I’d end up in court for sure. Spreading what you believe to be the Word of God is one thing. Browbeating young women with such hateful language is hardly what I would call Christian.
So, enough for today. Thank you Susie for being my sister and sharing so much of yourself with me over the years. I love you!
Great story!
Lovely story. As you know I am half-American British but stayed on this side of the Atlantic. I had a trip alone across half the USA in 1966 at the age of 18 or 19 in a Greyhound bus. Many of my fellow passengers were Mormons from Salt Lake City. They were charming and not once did they ask me to come to god, Jesus or anyone else! Must follow your inspiration and write it up sometime.